THE THERAPIST THE EARTHWORM AND THE LADY
Kristen Lenea Ryberg
Article voiceover
THE THERAPIST THE EARTHWORM AND THE LADY Are in a state of natural selection. The therapist held his palms together faced the lady, his fingers pointing toward her. He quickly turned his hands upside down All you need to do is love yourself just flip, like this, you are so close. Earlier, in the garden, the lady pulls weeds unearths another earthworm, watched it twist, writhe, from sudden exposure. The lady in her appointment with the therapist thinks of the earthworm, she sits on the too soft couch in the close room, unaired in-between patients. She isn’t buying it, her bullshit detector fires up. Oh, she agrees, true statement , we all could use more loving ourselves. He drives the failure in, you know, you can’t really love anyone else, until you love yourself. Imagining the earthworm again, she squirms wants to burrow back quickly to her weeding her quiet earth industry. She thinks, I could blurt but I’m not an earthworm, I am rarely one sure thing of understandable purpose at any given time. He say’s , we can talk about your past, but not that useful. She has been here enough, thanks him at the end of the session.
Beautiful.
But there's a sadness in it, too.
We can't flip switches that easy. But we can dig in, like the worm. Seemingly unloved. Only the people who know how valuable the worm's work is, know how to love it.
And these people exist.
Beautiful. I feel it in my heart. Thank You again.